An Open Window
by shira syndrome
Summary: On a quiet evening, Ren takes a few moments to reflect on certain things that have changed between himself, and the person lying next to him. [shounen ai]


Disclaimer: Shaman King belongs to Hiroyuki Takei.

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**An Open Window**

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It's a quiet night, and it's oddly peaceful inside. Most of the windows are open and accepting the lazy breeze. The shower I just stepped out of washed off the dirt and sweat I culminated after a day's training outside but the warm water only enhanced my undeniable yearning for sleep. My biceps ache vehemently, and there's a knot in between my shoulders. Along my right calf there's also a portion of frostbitten skin, now tingling aggravatingly; a blow he sprung during our sparring session that caught me by surprise.

The property is silent. Asleep. Jun is mostly likely upstairs in her rooms, dreaming. Li Pailong is mostly likely upstairs near her rooms, guarding. I head toward my own room, where my comfortable bed, with its soft clean sheets, is waiting.

I open the door, and lock it behind me. It's late, but the strong moonlight washes everything in dark tones of blacks and silvers. The fresh coolness of the room hits my bare torso; immediately I look to the large window – the open window. It doesn't matter how many times I yell at him to keep it closed, to stop turning my room into a meat locker for his own twisted comfort... he never listens.

I've always hated sleeping with my window open – not because of the cold; I've typically trained myself to ignore discomfort.

... It's listening to the sounds outside that window that I really can't ignore. The people outside are happy. They have simple lives made up of simple things, a family of two parents and squabbling siblings and pets and homework... What life have I had? An uncle who once tried to squeeze the humanity out of me, other distant, nameless family members, a sister who throughout most of it was more like a business associate, and an army of ghouls in the basement. In a world like that, there is no room for friends or lovers or the simple things I hear outside my window.

But no matter how many times I yell at him to keep it closed, he never listens.

I turn my attention to the lavish four-poster, and notice a lump in the middle of the bed, hidden under a sheet. I watch it, and after a moment, it slides over slyly and the corner of the sheet lifts up in invitation. Still I watch. I know he must be watching me in turn. Somehow I know he is, with an intensity he rarely shows. He's still a loud, irritating fool with a penchant for being horrifically clumsy, but I've come to realize there are more sides to him than I originally thought. Now, he reserves a more quiet part of himself for me when we are alone and safe from scrutiny like this.

My feet carry me to the bed, and I gratefully slip under the covers next to him. My body screams for rest, making me feel grossly sluggish. If it were a living entity, my lifetime of training would balk in shame. But it's all right. There's no one else but the two of us, and I can let myself be human. He knows that, and I suspect he must feel a little smug I also show him hidden parts of myself to him and no one else.

I let out a breath; rest my cheek against his back. Considering his heritage, I would have thought him cool to the touch like the element he controls, but his skin is warm. A smile twitches at my lips. In this place, this safe place, when we're together and the door has closed out the outside world, he can grow hot, scorching even. On the brink of sleep, sometimes I wonder how that heat between us, between our touches and kisses, can melt the ice inside me but leaves those odd powers of his intact.

I suppose it doesn't matter. I stroke the rough pad of my thumb along a portion of his skin and he quivers and shifts. He still won't turn and face me, but I know it's because he's trying to hide one of those moronic grins of his. After a day full of the complaining and wailing and arguing and inhuman gluttony he likes to bestow me with, I should have been ready to strangle him with the bed sheets (which I have attempted more than once before).

But... things have changed. A new weakness I'll have to be careful to hide – that I don't think I could ever seriously hurt him, not really. If I did, others might wonder at my regret. A Tao doesn't show regret, not for anything.

He shifts and rolls over, causing my eyes to snap open; I'd almost fallen asleep pressed to his back like that. One hand snakes out and reaches for the thick blanket and flips it over us, blocking out the moonlight. We haven't spoken a word to each other since, hours ago, I warned him I'd skin him alive if he ate me out of house and home. It's nice though... but strange that no words seem to be needed.

Our breath is making our little nest hot. Now that he's facing me, I can tell he's trying to hold back a smile. Right now, in this moment, I'm warm and content and have put my calculating mind to rest; he knows this is a rare moment where he could get away with one of his stupid and tactless antics without immediate fear of dismemberment.

My eyelids droop and all I want is sleep. All I want is this moment; wrapped in the warmth of our cocoon of blankets, with him at my side. He knows this is a rare moment where I could admit it all freely, without any of my usual inhibitions. But he doesn't say anything, which I am thankful for. He can feel it, and that's enough.

Sometimes I suspect some of the others have sensed something. Sensed some sort of nameless change in the two of us. I have no doubt in my mind of the shrewdness of Jun's perceptive nature, and I also have no doubt in my mind of _his_ sister's engrossed attention on trivial things. Both of us have agreed in plain words that Anna most definitely recognizes our secret in its entirety. As for the rest... what they don't know will only save us trouble.

It seems almost second nature when we curl in to each other, seeking out the other to anchor us when we are finally lost to dreams; as natural as my training exercises, movements that have been ingrained into my very being. Hmm...

There's a soft snicker into my hair. I wait a moment with an instinctive cock of an eyebrow, and soon his lips move to my ear and he murmurs something about eating too much and the unfortunate circumstance of our enclosed space –

I pinch the sensitive skin of his belly, but there's no real force behind it. Even so, he does make a valiant effort to smother another round of snickering.

I make a mental note to show some genuine irritation in the morning, and allow my eyes to close. A breath brushes along the top of my head, carrying a soft 'goodnight', but that's all. Sleep drifts over us and won't release its hold until morning, where he will go back to his sister and his – our – friends and put on a face of untold relief and crow about how much I tortured him, where I will feign annoyance and make snide comments about how much of a weak idiot he is and how much I'd wish he'd never set another foot on my property. Asakura will laugh and say something good-natured about training opportunities with such a skilled shaman, while his little sidekick will give a sideways glance and mumble something along the lines of 'death by overbearing psycho'. His sister will shoot me a look she thinks I won't notice, one that tells me she's unsure of why her dearest brother won't tell her what goes on when he stays over to train, but that it isn't enough to confront me about it. Anna will also give me a look – to the others, a look just like any other – but to me, one that holds the slightest touch of beguilement, one that clearly tells me _she_ knows what really transpires.

But until that time, when our outward faces fall back into place, the window will remain open and I can be content with the felicity that's outside it. Because, when he's with me like this, in this safe place of ours, it's easier to bear; he's that piece that connects me to the world outside, that's woken up a part of me I thought I had finally killed a long time ago. He keeps telling me to keep it open, not to lock myself away with the horrors of my life anymore. But no matter how many times he tells me to keep it open, I never listen.

Hn. Maybe someday I will.

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a/n: The absence of names was obviously intentional, and if you can't figure out who Ren was referring to, then I officially label you mentally challenged. Constructive criticism is more than welcome. Tell me what you think!


End file.
